


Tea Kettles

by Blue_Thallium (orphan_account)



Series: Frightened Children [3]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Bertl-centric, Multi, this series is just turning into a collection of awkward unrequited crushes, you don't have to have read the first two parts in any way shape or form
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-01 06:48:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1041630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Blue_Thallium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been Bertholdt’s birthday the previous day. He was six. He turned the knife over in his hand, and his lip quivered. </p><p>When they told him he’d have to cut himself, it didn’t sound so bad. Now the knife was in his hand, he was frightened and he didn’t want to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It had been Bertholdt’s birthday the previous day. He was six. Papa made him a wooden piggy, that sat on a little cart with red wheels, and had a string so you could pull it around behind you. 

Mama unwrapped the string from his hand and set the toy aside by Granddad, who loomed at the edge of the clearing, tall as one of the trees and skin as dark as its trunk. His beard was huge and black and bushy, and Bertholdt liked to sit on his lap and tie it into plaits. 

Granddad drew a knife and Mama took it from him, bent down far till she was nose to nose with Bertholdt. She took his hand from the pocket of his cloak and held it for a moment. Bertholdt noted how much larger her hands were, and how rough; the way her skin was shades darker than his. He liked the way it looked when she held hands with Papa, because his hands were so pink.

She pressed the knife into Bertholdt’s hands. It was metal (which was like rock, but sharper and shinier) and Bertholdt had watched Papa sharpen it at his grindstone earlier today, whistling and shooting Bertholdt worried glances. Papa was handsome, and had red hair and blue eyes. Sometimes Bertholdt wished he looked more like Papa, like his brothers did. Gerhard and Aadi got to work at the kiln and throw pots. Bertholdt had to learn to use a bow and arrow, and read and write with Mama. She promised she’d teach him to work a sword and a spear when he was older, but Bertholdt just wanted to make things.

“Just press down hard, and pull the knife across your hand. It won’t hurt, not even a bit, I promise,” she said. Her eyes were green like his, and her hair was long and so black it was almost blue when it caught the light. Bertholdt fought the urge to reach out and pet it. 

“How do we know it’ll work, Mama?” he asked.

“Because you’re a Mahan,” she blinked, then shook her head, “Well, your blood is Mahan. You’re a Hoover. Nothing wrong with that, just… We’re natural shifters and… We think you’re like us. We have a sense about these things,” Mama stammered. She was shaking. Mama didn’t talk very much, or very well when she did, but she usually spoke easily to Bertholdt. The whole situation set him on edge. Granddad made him nervous when he went all serious, and Mama was scaring him a little. “Do it for me,” she said.

Bertholdt turned the knife over in his hand, and his lip quivered. When they told him he’d have to cut himself, it didn’t sound so bad. Now the knife was in his hand, he was frightened and he didn’t want to.

“Can’t we use a needle?” he asked. He stuck his fingers doing needlework with cousin Claudia all the time, he was used to that.

“No. It’s a special knife, the last four generations of our family have spilt their blood on this knife for their first shift, and my son won’t be the one to break tradition,” Mama snapped. Bertholdt flinched, and she softened, a thin hand wrapping around his shoulder. “Go on, Bertie.”

He pressed the blade into the flesh of his palm, and couldn’t bring himself to drag. He began to cry, and feigned pain, in the hope Mama might let him give up and do it tomorrow instead. 

“I know, I know,” Mama soothed him, but gave no indication she’d let him stop.

“Can’t you do it for me?” he asked. Mama shot a look back at Granddad, who shook his head.

“This has to be something you do for yourself,” she said. “Come on, the council need to know if you can do this.”

Bertholdt gave a last sob, then wiped his nose on his sleeve. “O… Okay, I’ll, I’m doing it, I’m doing it,” he mumbled.

“Remember to focus hard on something, anything!” Mama said. She folded Bertholdt’s left palm around the blade of the knife.

Bertholdt thought about how badly he’d like to be somewhere else as he jerked the knife down his hand as hard as he could.

The next few minutes were a noisy, violent blur. He felt hot, so hot like his skin was boiling off his body, the sensation of something engulfing him and growing and thrusting him miles into the air, where for a moment everything was tiny; each tree like a blade of grass, the village across the way like a collection of doll’s houses and the mountains in the distance, still huge but not as huge as they seemed from the ground.

There were a pair of flashbangs at his feet and Mama and Granddad were pulling at him, familiar as skinless titans he rarely saw but still recognised. Mama’s jaw clamped at the nape of his neck, and everything went black for a moment.

He woke up later in bed, one arm half missing but steaming violently, his whole body on fire. He felt like a teakettle. He probably looked like a teakettle. 

Mama and Granddad sat by him, and Bertholdt felt to shocked and tired to even cry. 

“Did, did I do it right, did…?” as he said it, Mama started crying. He’d never seen her cry before. “What’s wrong?” he asked. 

“Nothing, nothing, nothing at all,” she wiped her eyes and smiled. “You were wonderful, you _are_ wonderful,” and her smile split into a grin. “Tell him, Dad, tell him he’s wonderful.”

Granddad gave Bertholdt a dark look, bushy brows furrowed. “Rhea…” he said.

“What?” Granddad shook his head at her. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You shouldn’t be rejoicing this. It’s a terrible thing. A heavy burden for him,” said Granddad. Bertholdt let his eyes slide shut. He was tired and frightened, and he wanted to be left alone.

“We’re the only colossal shifters left in the village, me, you and Sana. And you know for a fact we’re all far too small to do the job. My other sons and Sana’s daughter can’t shift. It’ll have to be him,” said Mama. It sounded like she wanted to shout.

Granddad gave a heavy sigh. “I knew he’d be a shifter. For all I love my other grandchildren, I knew they were duds the day they popped out of the womb, and I felt it in my bones the first time I held him. I just… I hoped be the one to do it.”

Mama snorted. “Then who?”

“Sana is pregnant. Perhaps we should wait until her next is born before we send Bertholdt. You know he’s a delicate boy, Rhea you can’t deny that. Sana’s baby, we could raise it with purpose, make sure it doesn’t have the chance to develop any sensitivities.”

Bertholdt wished he was asleep. Delicate was the word Papa used for pots he’d just taken out of the kiln. 

“That’s cruel, Dad, and you know it is.”

“Crueller than forcing Bertholdt to do something he won’t be able to do? The rest of the council will want to launch an attack as soon as possible now, you do realise. The second they find out, they’ll want him right into training-”

Mama cut him off. Bertholdt had never heard Mama interrupt any one before, never mind Granddad of all people.  
“Do you suggest we lie? Like they won’t have seen the explosion from the village? Like they won’t have been keeping an eye out for this?” Mama sounded furious. “By the time Sana’s baby is six, Bertholdt will be almost thirteen. He’ll be far too old to start training then, and far too old to do what we need him to do. And if that baby is a dud, we’ll have wasted this opportunity! And then what? We’ll wait around for another twenty years? Fend off more attacks from the mindless, lose more of our number, then marry Bertholdt off to Claudia and hope for the best?” she snorted again. Bertholdt did not want to marry Claudia. “The gene is obviously thinning out, Dad. Unless we suddenly discover how to make colossal titans, he might be our last chance. Where on earth did you get the idea he won’t be able to do this?” asked Mama.

Bertholdt wasn’t exactly sure what they wanted him to do, but he was sure Granddad was right, and he probably would be bad at it.

“He cries whenever he’s hit. He’d rather plait hair and sew and make pots than learn how to use a bow. He won’t even trample daisies, for God’s sake! This boy is no natural born warrior. You’ll have to ruin him, the council will _ruin_ him to make him do what he has to do. And ruined boys don’t make good warriors for long, they make for liabilities,” said Granddad. Everything he said was true. Bertholdt felt ashamed, and tried not to cry. 

“You think he’ll fail?” Mama said quietly. She brushed her hand across Bertholdt’s forehead and flinched away, as if burned. “Well you’re wrong,” she said. “You’re wrong.”

 

*

It took Bertholdt a while to find Annie. She was tucked up between two equipment sheds, arms folded under her hoodie, sleeves limp at her sides.

“What do you want?” she asked. It was the first time they’d spoken in the two weeks since enlisting. They’d lived together for a couple of years, little moles in the refugee camps. It was strange not seeing her every day. Part of him just wanted to know how she was, but he knew better than to tell her. His unrequited brotherly affection was generally met with a sneer or an instance that she didn’t need him worrying about her, that she didn’t want to be his friend.

“I’m worried about Reiner,” he said. Annie rolled her eyes, and Bertholdt flicked his hair over his brow. He hated making eye contact with her.

“What for?”

“He keeps getting all friendly with… everyone. He’s not staying detached at all, and… They all like him, even the Jaeger boy, the angry runt who saw us that day. And his skinny friend too, the bookish one, who threw up after the hike yesterday,” Bertholdt told her.

“Armin,” Annie said. “Don’t pretend you don’t know his name, when you’re all matey with him.”

Bertholdt frowned at his shoes, and peaked through his fringe to see her smirking. “I’m not matey with him.”  
Truthfully, he enjoyed Armin’s company. He was sweet, and well spoken. While Reiner and Jaeger laughed noisily with Connie and Sasha, Bertholdt and Armin would watch and snicker, and chat quietly about their day. “He stares at you a lot you know,” said Bertholdt. “When I was trying to get your attention today, I caught him.”

Annie went red. “So?” 

“Just saying,” Bertholdt shrugged. It was petty of him, but at least it wiped the sneer off her face. “Any way, Reiner. I was wondering if maybe all three of us should have a talk together. Remind him that he’s not here to make friends.”

“Since when has Reiner listened to me? You talk to him, it’s not worth risking someone seeing us all together. It’s bad enough the two of you telling people you’re from the same village.” She shook her head, and Bertholdt winced. “Yeah, I heard about that.” 

The three of them had carefully crafted individual back stories. Reiner and Bertholdt were supposed to be from opposite ends of wall Maria, who’d met in the refugee camps last year.

“I’m sorry, I panicked when I was telling the story. I left you out of it though,” he said.

“Good. So we’re agreed that you’re going to talk to Reiner about being more professional?” 

“Yeah.”

“You can’t come running to me every time you have a little problem, you know. Only ask for me if it’s an emergency,” she said. Bertholdt looked at her through his hair again. Her gaze hadn’t faltered. “I’m going to bed. And get your haircut, driving me fucking crazy,” she bumped past him and stalked off. 

Bertholdt gave it a minute before he left. He supposed his hair had gotten a little long.

He went back to the barracks, and found Reiner amongst a crowd of their peers, explaining to them how he’d gotten his arms so big.

“Just working the fields at the camp, I guess,” he said.

Jaeger whined at his side. “Bullshit! I worked the fields for years too, and yeah, I got a little muscle but your arms look like goddamn hams,” he poked Reiner’s flexed bicep jealously, and Reiner snorted. 

“How old are you, Reiner?” asked Connie. 

“Uh, fourteen?”

Armin clicked his tongue. “You’re not even that much older than me! This is so unfair; I bet you weigh twice what I do.” 

Reiner chuckled and ruffled Armin’s hair. He realised Bertholdt was standing there, and shot him a guilty smile. “Well, I used to get stuck with a lot of heavy lifting around the camp when people noticed I was getting bigger. So did Bertl!”

Five heads turned to face him at the same time and he felt his face heat up. 

“Uh… I was better at darning socks to be honest, not lifting as much,” he mumbled. Jaeger tottered over and grabbed his arm thoughtfully. 

“Nah, you’re pretty big too. So how old are you? Like, sixteen?” he asked. Bertholdt looked over at Reiner, then at the door, then to his boots. 

“Um… No, I’m actually only thirteen,” he said. Everyone let out a gasp, and Reiner snorted. 

“What?! But you’re as tall as some of the horses!” cried Armin. He looked very disheartened. Bertholdt fought the urge to apologise.

“Bertl’s entire family is really tall. Even his mother was six feet tall. My mum was our village’s midwife, and she said Bertl was the longest baby she’d ever delivered,” Reiner trotted over to him, and clapped him on the back. Longest Baby wasn’t an achievement Bertholdt particularly tended to brag about. “Our size just comes down to luck and genetics, really. No secret to it,” he said.

Shadis came in to tell them it was lights out in an hour and Reiner’s audience dissipated slightly. Armin lingered for a moment to look the two of them over before departing to his bunk with a final sigh of: “So unfair.”

“Reiner, I um. Could you cut my hair for me, please?” he asked. Reiner nodded.

“Doesn’t Annie normally cut your hair?”

“Yeah, but… She’s trying to keep away from us, remember?” 

Reiner sighed. He loudly asked the barracks if anyone had scissors as he retrieved Bertholdt’s comb from his drawer. Jean threw him a pair from the other side of the room, despite Jaeger screeching that he was a stupid piece of shit if he really thought throwing a pair of sharp scissors was a good idea.

“Are you cutting your hair?” asked Connie. Bertholdt nodded. “Well do it outside. Sasha shaved my head in the bathroom last week and Shadis flipped his shit.”

Bertholdt was glad for the excuse to get away. It still pretty light outside, if cold, and Reiner said he felt like having a walk any way.

He dragged Bertholdt all the way over to the grass and sat him down. Bertholdt only wanted to be out of earshot of the barracks, not eyeshot as well. Bertholdt thudded down on the ground and Reiner plopped between his knees before he’d had a chance to close his legs. 

Reiner dragged the comb through Bertholdt’s hair. 

“How short do you want it?” he asked. 

“Shorter than usual, but, um. Not as short as yours, it’d look stupid on me.” Reiner smiled, and Bertholdt looked past him. He could manage looking Reiner in the eye better than he could manage with most people, but not at this distance. 

“I’m sure it would look fine, but I won’t.” Once Reiner was finished combing out his fringe, he got up and moved to sit behind Bertholdt, much to his relief. This wasn’t a conversation he particularly wanted to have with Reiner centimetres away from his face. 

“Are you… Feeling alright?” he tried. 

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Reiner said. His voice was deep in Bertholdt’s ear. “You’re worried about me, huh?” He heard the sound of snipping, and felt the cold metal of the scissors ghost along the back of his neck.

“A little,” he said. 

Reiner chuckled. “You don’t have to, Bertl, I’m fine,” he brushed off the back of Bertholdt’s neck with gentle fingers, and he shivered. “How are you?” asked Reiner, before Bertholdt could speak again.

“Uh… I’m okay, I suppose,” he replied.

“Making friends?”

“We’re not here to make friends, Reiner.”

“Yeah, I know but… Are you?” Reiner dusted off Bertholdt’s shoulders, and carried on snipping away.

“Not really, no.” Bertholdt said. He took a deep breath. He’d never lectured Reiner before, and was generally on the receiving end of his advice. (‘Lift with your legs, Bertl! You’ll hurt your back’, ‘if you give Annie space, she’ll come round’, ‘Just think of home, just keep thinking about home,’)  
“I wanted to talk to you about that actually. I know you’re um… A sociable person, but, you… you’re not being very professional, I don’t think and you need to keep more distance from the rest of the group,” he said. The scissors lay flat against his ear as Reiner cut around it.

“You seem pretty friendly with Armin,” Reiner murmured. 

“He’s okay.”

“He’s really nice. He can’t fight for shit, but I was talking to him the other day and he’s really, really clever.” Reiner did the hair around his other ear. 

“He’s friends with Jaeger,” said Bertholdt. 

“Jaeger’s a good kid under it all.” Reiner’s knees popped as he stood, plopping himself between Bertholdt’s knees with as little warning as last time. He combed Bertholdt’s fringe over his eyes.

“If he knew what we were, he’d kill us,” Bertholdt said. “Well, I bet he’d try, any way.”

“Go easy on him. It’s not his fault he’s like that,” Reiner began snipping, the ‘it’s our fault’ hanging unspoken in the air between them. “You should talk to Armin more though; the two of you have a lot in common.” 

“Like what?” Bertholdt blinked cut hair out of his eyes, watched Reiner’s face. His brow was furrowed, and his tongue poked out with the effort.

“You both have the same shitty attitude about yourselves. Maybe if you talked to him more you’d realise how ridiculous you are,” he said. Bertholdt didn’t have anything to say back to that, merely sat with his face flushed, waiting for Reiner to finish off his haircut. He pushed at what was left of Bertholdt’s fringe with his thick fingertips, and leant back a little. He inspected his work with a smile, and leant in too close again. “All done.”

“Thanks.” Bertholdt wanted to crawl away. 

“I forgot to grab a looking glass. Do you want to go back in and look at it?” Reiner asked. Bertholdt brought his hand to his forehead, and felt it might be too short. Getting rid of it might have been a mistake.

“No,” he mumbled. Reiner knocked his hand away. Bertholdt looked past him again, one eye on the sun as it fell just below the wall on the horizon.

“Well, I think it looks good, if I do say so myself. You should keep it short, you have a nice face, it seems a shame to hide it under your hair,” Reiner brushed at his fringe again.

“Yeah,” Bertholdt swallowed. Reiner wet his lips, and Bertholdt cleared his throat. Reiner leaned in, and Bertholdt leaned back until his chin was practically flat against his neck. Their noses bumped “Um, what are you doing?” squeaked Bertholdt.

Reiner fell back off his knees onto his backside, fast enough that it probably hurt. “Nothing,” he said hastily. Bertholdt knew as well as Reiner did that that wasn’t nothing. Reiner had gone red. Bertholdt had never seen Reiner look embarrassed before. “Sorry,” he said.

“It’s okay.” Bertholdt carefully drew his legs up to his chest. “Do… Do you like boys, or something?”

“Uh,” Reiner spluttered. “I think so. I mean, I don’t know if it’s just boys in general or just… You.” 

“Oh.” Bertholdt was sure if he got any redder, his head would start to steam. “ _Why?_ ” Bertholdt asked, before he could stop himself.

“I dunno. You’re… just you, I suppose.” Reiner cleared his throat noisily and stood, hand clasped tight to the back of his neck. “I’m going to go back inside, I’m really sorry,” he said.

Bertholdt watch him stumble away, and rested his chin on his knees. 

They slept back to back for the first time in years. He wished he could have stayed like that, but he woke up hanging off the bed upside down, his foot in Reiner’s face.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah there was supposed to be more stuff back at the training round, but the titan village flashback got out of hand, and we would have ended up with like a 8000 word chapter and it's like shit who has time for that
> 
> I'm always hesitant to use a graphic descriptions of violence tag? But a child does stab another child in the neck so
> 
> weewoo

They stuck a crown made of leaves on Bertholdt’s head, and sat him on an arm chair balanced on a high table in the middle of the street. They said it was to give him a good view of the ceremony, and he supposed it was meant to be like a throne. Like from the picture books but not as grand. A bit rubbish, really. The springs in the chair were squeaky, and the fabric was stained, and ugly – some old world relic pulled from a run scavenging in the city and presented to him as a gift. It was more comfortable than the wooden chairs they made themselves, but this felt filthy. It was a very strange seventh birthday, so far.

Mama stood to his left, and Granddad stood to his right, both of them silent. They buzzed, both of them. They buzzed like other people of their village didn’t. It radiated from the core of them. Mama was all excited and proud, the air around her was warm like their fireplace, but the air around Granddad was too close, like a day in August with no breeze. He had a tight smile on his face, but he was picking his thumbs, and had been since the council had popped the crown on Bertholdt’s head.

The other children were gathered in a circle, about two yards ahead of them. There were seventeen competitors in total. Bertholdt knew about half the village’s number were shifters, but he knew most of them were too old to do whatever it was the council needed. And then there were others whose forms wouldn’t be useful enough. Too small, or deformed to do what they needed. 

Still, he’d thought there’d be more than seventeen.

The council had them lined up in age order. Reiner, stood first, caught his eye, and grinned. Next to him was Berik, who waved. He looked very small and very thin next to Reiner. Then there was Lillian with the red hair, who’d started going all weird and giggly around Bertholdt, then Jack, whose mother was captain of the Village Guard. There were a few children whose faces Bertholdt knew, but names he didn’t, when he spotted _Annie_ there amongst them, with a nasty look on her face as usual. Madeline was standing next to her, and had left a good foot of space between them. There were another couple of nameless faces in the line then Annie’s cousin Elena, who was much nicer and a lot less weird. A boy called Kurt stood to her right, followed by twins, Herman and Erich. The four children at the end of the line were barely toddlers, and Bertholdt didn’t understand why the council would bother pitting them against any one. 

Behind the children were the six other council members (Friedel, Schober, Wagner, Kruger, Hoffman and Lukas), muttering amongst themselves in their uniformed white clothing and looking like an incomplete set without Granddad. Behind the council were the competitors’ parents. Bertholdt recognised Reiner’s parents and Berik’s mother among them. Karl and Lena Braun looked the calmest of any, sharing a proud, private smile. Eva Klein looked pale, and drawn as she bit her nails and shot paranoid glances at the other parents, all as pale and shifty as she was.

Bertholdt scanned the crowd of spectators for the rest of his family. He spotted Sana and Claudia almost immediately, brown faces and jet hair stark against the crowd of white and blonde and sandy brown. Papa stood behind her with Uncle Josef, holding the baby in the crook of his arm (named Kali for an old world Goddess by Granddad, then quietly declared a dud in his next breath) and Bertholdt’s brothers. They were both so much fairer than Bertholdt and his mother, both with the lightest tans, and dark brown hair, Papa’s eyes staring out of both their faces. Learning Papa’s trade, and betrothed to pretty girls, while Bertholdt sat nervously on his dusty throne, Granddad’s hand hard on his shoulder, and Mama bounding on her heels beside him. 

Bertholdt was suddenly aware that the crown on his head was far too big for him, and slipping down onto his forehead.

He looked back to the line of children. What on earth would he do if Reiner _and_ Berik lost? He hardly knew the other boys and girls. He tried to imagine being stuck for years and years with Jack or Elena. Two people he hardly knew. Jack didn’t pick on Bertholdt, but he was a bully, and Elena made jokes all the time, and Bertholdt didn’t know how to take her. And then he could end up with Annie, who scowled and spat when she was asked to smile, and dragged Madeline along the floor by her pigtails in the yard of the school house one day. 

“Why can’t it just be Reiner and Berik?” he said. He hadn’t quite meant to say it aloud. Mama looked down at him, eyebrows raised. “It’s just… Reiner’s the strongest boy I know a-and Berik, well. He’s… He’s only okay at fighting, but he’s really smart and-”

Mama had bent down to his level. She took his hand, and he could see himself reflected in her muddy green eyes. “It’s a great honour to serve you, do you know that? I know they’re you’re friends, but we can’t have any one who’s just _okay_ going with you,” she smiled at him, and ran a thumb over his knuckles. “Perk up. There’s only about…” She took a moment to scan the line of children, mouthing something to herself as she looked them over. “Seven of them actually in the running, by my reckoning. Reiner’s a big lad, he’ll manage. And Berik… Well, we’ll see about Berik, won’t we?”

Bertholdt sighed. “Fine.”

Mama snorted, and stood again, ruffling his hair, and knocking his crown further down his forehead. “Don’t get stroppy, Bertie. This is all for you, you know?” 

Bertholdt sighed again. He supposed she was right, and that he should be grateful that so many people wanted to help him. That it was such an honour to go with him. 

Councillor Kruger (a stout woman, with a huge nose, and wiry grey hair) drew a circle on the ground with a chunk of chalk, while Councillor Schober (a slim man, with a neat black goatee) walked down the line children, offering each one something from a sack.  
Bertholdt couldn’t quite see what they’d been given at first. Reiner realised he was squinting and held up the gift; a small stone knife, dull grey, and very sharp.

“Two children at a time will enter the circle,” began Councillor Friedel (the oldest one of the lot, by Bertholdt’s reckoning, an impossibly thin woman, with skin almost as white as her hair, and hair as white as the dresses she wore), pointing down at the ground with long, skinny fingers, “And one will leave.” There was a faint murmur from the crowd, an audible squeak from Berik’s mother. “Unless, of course, we call it a draw, or one child chooses to yield,” she turned to the line of children. “You may yield, by the way, I can’t remember if we told you that before. You may kill each other, but you may yield if you feel yourself outmatched.” Friedel paused for a moment. “Oh, yes, and there will be no shifting what so ever. Your shifts have already been assessed for usefulness. Any shifting will result in an immediate disqualification… and two weeks in the prison for your parents,” she added, almost as an afterthought.  
There was a grumble then. One man’s eyes went wide, and he hissed what sounded like a name as a warning, but none of the children so much as flinched. 

The prison, Bertholdt understood, was the basement of the huge building the Council used for their meetings. Legend went that it was pitch black and infested with rats, and that the council would just let you die down there if they decided couldn’t be bothered to feed you.

The children were quickly arranged into pairs by size, leaving Reiner with Jack, and Berik with a mousy girl Bertholdt didn’t know, and when Friedel was satisfied, she continued to speak. 

“Erm… Ah yes, now after this first round the losers, should they choose to continue, will fight the other losers, and then the winners of those fights shall fight the winners, and so on and so forth,” she sighed and turned to the crowd. “You all don’t have to stay for all of it, we might be here for hours. Tiresome business really, but it must be done. And we thought, why not make a day of it, considering it’s the Little King’s birthday.” She gave Bertholdt a grandmotherly smile, and began to applaud. The crowd followed. It was only Granddad’s tight grip on his shoulder that prevented him from sinking down into his chair with embarrassment. He felt very, very warm, and, all of a sudden, quite damp.

They started the fights with Reiner and Jack. Jack went right for Reiner’s throat, and Bertholdt was almost sick with panic. Reiner elbowed Jack in the stomach, snatched his knife and knocked him to the ground. The moment Reiner had pinned him, he yielded with a scream.

Bertholdt tried his best not to keep his eyes closed. Kurt slammed his knife into Lillian’s neck the moment they began to fight. Her parents screeched “She yields,” and she was carried, sheet white and still conscious, to Dr Vogel, waiting at the sidelines with alcohol and bandages. The knife was still in her neck. 

Bertholdt was shaking. Granddad’s hand bit into his shoulder. He decided he didn’t like Kurt much anymore.

Berik went next. He held his knife all wrong, and when the girl lunged for him, he started forward, but dropped his knife when she knocked him to the floor. He shot Bertholdt and apologetic glance, and the girl went for his stomach. His mother screamed “Yield” from the sidelines, and then, so did Berik, shouting just in time.

He was the first to drop out, returning to his mother with guilty tears leaking down his face. He looked at his feet for the rest of the ceremony. 

Bertholdt hadn’t recovered from Kurt’s knife in Lillian’s neck, and watched the rest of the ceremony in a stupor. There wasn’t much blood, but there was enough that Bertholdt knew he’d be having nightmares till his next birthday.

By the end of it all, one of the littlest boys had died after a long scrap, Elena had had a fit, and Kurt had run off into to the wood, screaming, without much warning.

It had taken almost four hours to narrow seventeen down to three. Reiner, Annie, and Jack. Reiner had won every fight, and so had Annie. Bertholdt didn’t understand why they were making Annie fight Jack.

Annie was bound to lose. She’d fought as viciously as Bertholdt had expected her to, but she was so small and thin, there was no way she could beat Jack. Jack was almost as big as Reiner, Jack’s mother let him practice with knives and swords.

They were put in the circle, both clearly exhausted. Jack practically sauntered over, while Annie bounced, almost elegant, almost graceful. She was like the deer Bertholdt and his mother hunted, till she disarmed Jack, cutting her palm as she snatched the knife from his hand, flinging it out of the circle and sweeping her leg beneath his in one smooth move. She sat on his back, jammed an elbow in the nape of his neck, and held the knife to his eye.

“Yield or I’ll take your eye,” she barked. 

Jack’s mother, frighteningly composed, shouted, “Yield, Jack, it’s alright.” 

But Jack didn’t yield. He struggled. He tried desperately to wriggle out from under her, but she was too strong. Annie, who was a whole head shorter than Jack, and probably weighed forty pounds, soaking wet, was too strong.

Mama leant down. Bertholdt didn’t bother to turn and look. “What’s her name?”

“Annie,” said Bertholdt. “She’s scary.”

“She’s winning.” Mama sounded impressed.

Annie barked “I mean it,” but Jack just grunted and wriggled more. She must have pressed the knife to his eye. Because he squealed, then breathlessly surrendered, emerging from beneath Annie with an ugly gash starting at his brow, and curving downward. 

Most of the crowd had dissipated, and no one cheered. Annie sniffed loudly, and staggered out of the circle, clearly exhausted. 

It was Bertholdt’s job to close the ceremony. Friedel called for him. When he stood, Granddad hoisted him up off the table his “throne” had been balanced on, and plopped him on the ground. His legs shook badly. He rarely felt the cold, but today he felt freezing, his breath pouring, white out of his nostrils. Perhaps he should have worn a coat.

He was to present Reiner and Annie (his “champions”, now) with their own crowns, leafy like his, but far smaller.

Friedel produced the crowns almost out of nowhere, and told Annie and Reiner to bow for their king. Reiner winked as Bertholdt placed the crown on his head, but Annie didn’t look at him. Annie kept her eyes forward, kept her bruised fists clenched. Blood trickled out from under her fingers where she’d snatched Jack’s knife. 

They were hurried away after that, to the Council’s big building. It wasn’t far from where they’d been but Bertholdt’s legs ached like he’d walked for miles. He had no idea what was to come next, but he dreaded it regardless. Reiner chattered and chattered for the whole walk, and Annie said nothing.

The council walked ahead, Granddad towering over them all, and Mama walked a little behind them, her tattered, old world dress a splash of blood red against the white of their clothing.

Before long the building was looming in front of them, filthy white, the overgrown forest behind it, wild and deep green. Bertholdt imagined that some of the trees must be growing into the building by now. 

“What did this building used to be any way?” asked Reiner.

Councillor Friedel turned, “This used to be a military hospital. Do you know what a hospital is?” Reiner nodded. Bertholdt didn’t know. He would ask Reiner later. “They conducted a number of experiments here when the mindless first came,” she slowed down a little. “The first of our kind was born in this hospital.”

Councillor Wagner (the newest member of the High Council who had been the village doctor, he was a bald as an egg, with yellowish skin and sharp blue eyes that bulged from his skull) pushed open the doors and ushered them all inside. The foyer of the building was as spotless as old world buildings could be. This appeared to be where their meetings took place. A huge table sat in the centre of the room, with seven chairs; drag marks it had left on the floor made a path into a long corridor.

“State your names, date of birth and ages,” said Friedel. Schober pulled a notepad and a stick of graphite from his pocket. Bertholdt had thought there might be something more official. Friedel pointed at Annie. “You first.”

“Annie Leonhardt, I’m six. My birthday’s March 22nd.”

Friedel thought for a moment. “Marina Leonhardt’s daughter?”

“No ma’am. Her niece,” Annie said. Bertholdt realised he’d never really heard her speak before. Her voice was gruff for a little girl’s. Friedel gave her a pitying smile.

“Ah, _Ralf_ Leonhardt’s girl, I see,” she said. Annie wiped her nose on her sleeve. “And you?”

Reiner smiled up at her, and Friedel smiled back. “Reiner Braun, age eight, birthday’s August 1st.”

“You’re a big lad, aren’t you?” Friedel said.

Reiner nodded. “I always eat my vegetables, ma’am.” And Friedel chuckled warmly at that. Bertholdt sighed. Reiner was really good at speaking to people, even grown-ups. Bertholdt had been hanging around the council for almost a year now, and he wouldn’t dare make a joke like that to Friedel. He could barely speak to her. 

“Very good. You’re the midwife’s son?”

“Yes ma’am.”

Friedel turned to Councillor Hoffman (a fair woman, with a very large stomach and very skinny legs) “Sabine, please fetch over Ralf Leonhardt and Lena Braun. Lena was right at the front of the crowd outside and Leonhardt was off to the left somewhere.” 

Annie sighed heavily at that. They waited twenty minutes for Hoffman to return with Reiner and Annie’s mother and father. Reiner continued to quiz the council about the building, and Bertholdt still didn’t really understand what a hospital was.

Hoffman was red faced when she arrived with Mrs Braun and Mr Leonhardt, like she’d ran to find them.

Without greeting them, or giving them a chance to speak to Reiner and Annie, Friedel asked, “How do your children fair during medical procedures?”

Mrs Braun gave a proud smile. “Oh, Reiner’s very good. He always lets me stitch up his cuts and clean them. Him _and_ Bertholdt were very big boys during their inoculations this year.” Mrs Braun smiled at Bertholdt too, and he felt warm. She was a very pretty woman, all blue eyes and red lips, and tall (but not as tall as Mama) with an enormous chest. Mama had told him before, rather enviously, that all the boys had wanted to marry Lena when they were younger. 

While Mrs Braun spoke, Mr Leonhardt shrugged. He was half a head shorter than Mrs Braun, with straggly, mouse-brown hair, and a scruffy, patchy beard. 

“She’s never had anything done. Not one for getting cuts or bruises. Deals well with pain though, never cries, never fusses,” Mr Leonhardt muttered. Mr Leonhardt was creepy and looked like he didn’t wash enough, Bertholdt decided.

“Excellent. What we’re going to do today _might_ be rather painful, but I’m sure they’ll take to it well,” Friedel said. The wrinkled skin at her mouth smoothed as she grinned. Bertholdt supposed that meant to be reassuring, but it was just frightening. Mrs Braun gave her a worried look; Mr Leonhardt’s face did not even flicker.

“What are you gunna do to us?” asked Reiner. His voice squeaked. He gave Bertholdt a look that was almost accusatory, like this was his fault. But then, in a way, it was.

Friedel was still grinning. “Nothing that you need to worry about. You’ll just be getting a few injections. We have some chemicals left over, from old world experiments. The experiments that fostered our race, in fact-”

“But Annie’s a natural shifter,” said Mr Leonhardt. Mrs Braun nodded furiously, and took a step toward Reiner. Schroder stepped in front of him.

“So is Reiner, Councillor Friedel, I don’t-”

“I know, I know. We’re not trying to turn them into anything; we just want to improve their current forms. We have two different serums we’d like to use. They were developed after the original experiments. We’ve tested one safely before, all it does is add an exo-skeleton to your titan’s form, with breaks at the joints to allow for easy movement and so on,” said Friedel. “Why, I’ve had that one for myself! Doctor Wagner did it for me, it was… Uncomfortable, admittedly, but I’m all the stronger for it.”

Mrs Braun looked a little more relaxed. “And the other?”

“Well we haven’t tested it safely yet. But the shifter we tried it on was very sickly. She had a deformed titan any way, and took to it badly. But, if successful, the lab notes from the original tests say it should add a crystallising ability. And there’s evidence it may also give a coordinate-like power; one that draws the Mindless in but doesn’t control them. It could prove to be invaluable to the mission, and we’d highly suggest using it on at least one of the children,” Friedel said, cheerfully.

Granddad spoke for the first time in a while. “Friedel,” he growled.

“What? For goodness’ sakes, Anish, we’ve already said we won’t be using it on Bertholdt. We’d do nothing to risk his wellbeing.”

Granddad said nothing. Mrs Braun scoffed.

“And what about the wellbeing of our children?” There was a pause. Friedel went to speak, but Mr Leonhardt started before she could.

“Use the coordinate thing on Annie,” he said. Annie’s eyes went wide. She gave her father a panicked look, then shot the same look at Friedel, who didn’t react, just kept that strange smile etched upon her face. “She can take it,” he added.

Friedel clapped her thin white hands together. “Very good then. The council and I will need a moment to prepare. Come through to the room when we call you, and we’ll get this over and done with.”

Friedel sailed out of the room, and one by one the Council followed. Granddad left last, and gave Mama a quick nod before he did.

The moment the Council were out of earshot, Mrs Braun rushed to Reiner’s side, beginning to chatter about how proud she was, and how brave he was. Reiner looked close to tears. Bertholdt had never seen Reiner look frightened before.

Annie walked over to her father, trembling. Whether it was from fear or exhaustion, Bertholdt couldn’t tell. Mr Leonhardt hushed his daughter, and placed his hand upon her head. He told her to be brave.

 

*

Chores got easier the higher you ranked. The bottom ten trainees were generally stuck mucking out the officer’s stables and cleaning bathroom, while the top ten had busy work spaced out between them. Mikasa and Reiner were assigned to clothing repair, Bertholdt and Annie to the kitchens. Eren and Jean had been on gear detail together, but when they kept fighting, Eren had been switched for Marco, who’d had the solitary job of cleaning out the offices. Connie and Sasha had been helping in the library; when it was discovered that Sasha was barely literate and Connie brought mess wherever he went, they were promptly forced by Shadis to switch jobs with Armin, who’d gotten stuck cleaning and maintaining boots. 

Every night, they went back to the barracks, stripped their gear and went off to their chores, all under the watchful eyes of Shadis, or another officer (in case someone tried to sneak off, Bertholdt supposed).

“Ugh, for fuck’s sake,” Jean snapped. He glared at the shirt he was wearing, The sleeve had come undone from the shoulder, and was sliding half way down Jean’s arm. Clothes were a valuable commodity. Standard issue stuff was only given out once every few months, and it was very rare to get something that was actually the right size. Bertholdt burnt through almost all of his pay on clothes. He kept outgrowing things, or ripping them.

“What is, Kirschtein?” Shadis asked, darkly. Jean’s scowl didn’t falter. He pointed at Reiner.

“I gave this to Reiner for repairs like yesterday, and it’s fallen apart again!”

“Braun?” called Shadis. Reiner was staring out the window, fiddling with the buckles of his gear. “Braun!”

“Yes sir?” he said, started. Shadis strode over to Jean, and pushed him at Reiner.

“Do you see that?” he tugged at Jean’s sleeve. “Your sewing is piss poor!”

“I know it is sir, I did warn you when you assigned me to clothing repair,” Reiner said. Shadis narrowed his eyes, and Bertholdt braced himself for Shadis to start yelling or doling out punishments or something. He merely sighed.

“How are you in the kitchen, then?”

“Much better than I am at sewing,” Reiner said, with a smile. Shadis sneered.

“Alright. Hoover, you can sew, can’t you?”

Bertholdt gave a small yelp. “Um… Well, yes, I’m alright at it.” Reiner slung an arm around the back of his neck.

“Don’t be shy, Bertl! He’s great at fiddly stuff like that, honestly. I reckon he’s fixed all my clothes twice over,” Reiner grinned. Shadis nodded.

“You two switch chore duty, then.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Bertholdt mumbled. Helping the cooks was quite fun, but it was tiring. Everyone knew clothing repair was by far and away the cushiest chore you could have, and the fact you’d get to do it with Mikasa Ackerman of all people, had made it a chore some boys (Jean) were prepared to fight Reiner for.

Reiner shook his head. “I think I did. I’m sick to death of people complaining to me about holes in their socks,” he said. “I’m shit at sewing, you like it and you’re good at it. I’m sure you’ll have fun.” He slapped Bertholdt’s shoulder. “Well, my gear’s off. So I’m going to go. I’ll pass on your love to Annie.” With a wink, Reiner left, and Bertholdt continued to struggle out of his gear. 

Reiner had gotten weirder since they almost kissed. They hadn’t talked about it. Bertholdt had tried his best not to think about it, but it niggled at him. He found himself spending far too much time watch Reiner’s mouth as he spoke and wondering what might have happened if he hadn’t leant away. In the dark of the barracks, surrounded by soft pants and wet noises, it was hard not to wonder. He didn’t like Reiner like that, he was sure. But it might be nice to have someone just to… Touch. Someone to kiss. He could justify it to himself as practice for girls, but truth be told he was lonely, and always guilty and always searching for things to take his mind away for a while.

He got out of his gear, changed his (soaked) shirt and made his way over to the laundry room with his sewing kit, the one that each recruit had been given.

He poked his head round the door, and found Mikasa sat on the floor by a wash basin, darning a sock.

Bertholdt tried to say hello, but the words stuck in his throat, he stood for a moment, fiddling with his kit, unable to detach his feet from the floor and drag them over to Mikasa. 

She noticed him after a moment, looking up from the sock for just a moment before going back to it.

“Where’s Reiner?” she asked.

“He um… Got reassigned,” Bertholdt muttered. Mikasa heard him, and he was glad, because he hated having to repeat himself. But he could never seem to make himself speak up. “Stuff he’d fixed kept breaking again.”

Mikasa frowned. “Oh. He was pretty awful at this, I suppose,” she pointed to a small pile of clothing to her left. “That’s your pile. You fix the boys’ clothes, I fix the girls’. But there’s usually more things in the boys’ pile, so I always ended up having to take half of Reiner’s stuff.” 

“Okay,” Bertholdt said. He supposed that meant he was going to have to sit down next to her. 

Mikasa made him terribly nervous. She was pretty. Bertholdt didn’t talk to pretty girls much. She was pretty, and Bertholdt had seen her with blades, and gear. He’d been training for this since he was six years old, and day in and day out he was dramatically out performed by an underfed refugee, who’d barely had a year of formal training. Mikasa cut through the practice dummies like they were butter; he dreaded to think what she could do with flesh.

He sat down beside her, leaving as much room between them as he could without it looking weird, and began to sort through the pile. It was mostly socks, but there were a few pairs of shirts, and pants in there too. He recognised one of Armin’s nightshirts (coming away at the armpit) and the pants Connie had ripped at the knees the previous day.

He started with the socks which, thank God, were all clean.

“You’re much faster than Reiner,” said Mikasa. He was on his third sock, Mikasa was finishing up her first. “You’re much faster than me.” Her tone almost sounded suspicious to his ear, but he was sure he was just being paranoid. She had no reason to suspect anything. Fast sewing wasn’t an admission of guilt, or evidence for anything. His hand had travelled to the back of his neck.

“Used to sew all the time. With my mother and… um, my cousin and aunt,” he said, voice cracking. “Like a hobby.” 

Mikasa’s eyebrows twitched. “That’s a bit of a boring hobby for a little boy.”

Bertholdt frowned just a little. He liked sewing. He liked _making_ , he liked slow, delicate tasks that required effort and concentration and hardly any thought. His mother told him that she’d taken it up as a hobby because she always used to copy Sana. That she was supposed to concentrate on being a hunter, like her father, but she just liked to do pretty needlework. She laughed like she’d been stupid to think it when she told him she didn’t used to want to be a hunter, that she wanted to make clothes like her mother, to train to make clothes in Sana’s place. Bertholdt had thought jealously of his brothers and his father – working at the wheels, making all the pots and cups and plates for the village – at the time, and wished he still didn’t feel the same pang.

He almost felt angry, he wanted to snap, but he didn’t. “Oh, um… Is it?” he asked, clearing his throat. Mikasa looked at him for a moment, eyes the same dull grey as the stone knives they favoured in his village. He felt dissected.

“I’m sorry, that was rude of me. I just always hated sewing. I was awful at it,” she said. Bertholdt doubted that. Mikasa struck him as the kind of person who was good at everything.

Almost shyly, she held up the sock she’d been darning for Bertholdt to inspect.

“It looks okay,” he said. The stitches lacked the uniformed elegance of his own, but seemed perfectly functional. He hadn’t heard any complaints from the girls about clothing falling apart after they’d sent it in for repairs.

“Well that’s no good,” she said, frowning at the sock again. She looked like she wanted to unpick it. “Help me do it like you,” she said. Bertholdt blushed. He’d never thought he was spectacularly good, just… He enjoyed it. Mikasa picked up a sock he’d fixed and sighed. “Like this.” 

“What do you mean?”

“Quickly and… your stitches are really even and tight,” she said, tugging at the sock round the stitched, and apparently impressed when it didn’t come apart.

“I don’t know what I can tell you, I just… I don’t know, it’s just darning socks, I do it all the time,” Bertholdt burbled. He felt sweaty. He felt sweaty a lot, but rarely this acutely. He hoped he didn’t smell.

Mikasa nodded, and sat with her chin on her hand, and her elbow on her knee.

“I’ll just watch you for a bit,” she said.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, and thank you doubly for any kudos, comments and bookmarks


End file.
